


Who is the Lamb and Who is the Knife

by Bunn1cula



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Fix It Fic, Gen, The Galactic Empire, also he's a total tart, and kallus maybe likes that or maybe wants to smash his face or both, he's just up to some turncoat cloak and dagger business, i personally can't fault him for either one, i said i'd never write one but here we are, if you squint real hard, imperial defection fic, kalluzeb - Freeform, needa isn't dead, that's always a nice tag to start with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunn1cula/pseuds/Bunn1cula
Summary: In which Captain Needa fakes his death and defects to the Rebellion with the help of Fulcrum. But where does his loyalty lie?
Relationships: Lorth Needa & Alexsandr Kallus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Who is the Lamb and Who is the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> So I found this story from a couple of years ago on my hard drive, and to my surprise it was almost entirely finished. I had completely forgotten about it. It's a pandemic present! 
> 
> This isn't the first "Needa didn't die, he defected" fic out there ([ Fialleril's ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402778)is outstanding!) but this one is mine.

Getting away had been all too easy. Dying had been another thing entirely.

( _What must it be like to be strangled?_ , Needa used to wonder. After Ozzel. And Motti, for that matter, neither of whom were available to offer him any enlightenment. Motti had always refused to speak about his turn; his incident report had been his first and last words on the matter. _Is it what they say drowning is like—a euphoric peace in the last seconds of consciousness?_ )

As it turned out, there hadn’t been any pleasant side effects. Six days later, his larynx was still sore from the grip of Vader’s invisible gauntlet squeezing his windpipe. His knees were black and blue from hitting the bridge of the _Executor_ ’s hard grated floor and ached like a bitch. But the petechiae around his eyes had just about faded by now, and hardly anyone had stared with quite frankly _rude_ curiosity at the discolorations about his neck for at least a couple of days.

All things considered, dying in order to live hadn’t been a bad tradeoff. The only drawback was that he’d never be Lorth Needa again, which was a pity. Lorth Needa had been a well-loved bloke both convivially and carnally, and cultivating that reputation hadn’t been an overnight affair. Rather, it had been _many_ overnight affairs. He couldn’t suppress a purse-lipped smile at the thought.

The Republic had been a misruled regime and a failed state, but the Empire’s reign of terror made it look a veritable utopia in comparison.

It was important to remember that the Republic had _not_ in fact been utopia, however brief the collective memory of the galaxy had seemingly become over the past twenty years. Turning a blind eye to slavery in the Outer Rim had been malignant apathy at best, and the creation of the clone Grand Army had been an exercise in undeniable amorality.

No…no matter how awful the Empire was, nobody really wanted to return to the worn-out old Republic. There had to be another way, a better system, a clearer direction to a more enlightened democracy.

Stars, he was beginning to sound like a damned idealist. No, no, that wouldn’t do. He sipped at his Tarine tea even though it had gone cold.

Lira San had so far been a welcoming sanctuary. It was temperate and mild and the Lasats had done an admirable job building themselves a new home on this absurdly obscure world in Wild Space.

The creak and bang of a thin wooden screen door opening and closing on the open-air deck drew his attention back to the present.

“You’re up bloody early to be on your second or third cup,” said Kallus, depositing himself onto a chair opposite Needa at the patio table.

Needa set down the teacup and leaned back in his chair, crossing one knee over the other. “Sorry if I’ve left a mess. Haven’t had to do any washing up in a long time.”

“It’s a fair trade for real food instead of pellets and slurries.”

“Indeed.” Squinting, Needa turned his face up to the sun. Not a cloud in the sky. He closed his eyes and marveled at the feeling of warmth on his cheeks. “I hope not to get very fat.”

“Zeb keeps warning me. He says I’ve gone soft in the middle.” Kallus ran both hands through his fair curtains of hair and groaned.

“Headache?”

“Gods, yes.”

Needa laughed. “Between you and I, we probably drank two thirds of the galaxy’s rum reserves last night.”

“And you—up with the sunbirds this morning. I don’t get it.”

“Old habits. I’ve always been an early riser.” Needa winked, then nudged his teacup on the table. “Though I have to say I never used to dawdle long enough to let one of these go cold.”

“Never drank the stuff myself. Or caf. Never had any need.”

“Clearly you never drank spirits, either. You look like a Coruscant U first-year after a night at the Haunch.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine. Last night I forgot I was drinking with one of you navy types. By gods, you lot are bottomless.”

“On the contrary. There are plenty of bottoms in the navy.”

Kallus’ cheeks went pink under his strawberry blond sideburns. “You don’t have to remind a former ISB agent of this fact, Needa.”

“Have a few surveillance feed reels burned into our retinas, do we?”

“Something like that.”

“Any of me?”

Kallus ignored the cheekiness. “No. You must have been discreet.”

“Anything but.”

“You had a friend in the Bureau, then.”

“No comment.” Needa smiled smugly and folded his arms. “But I suppose I’ve no need for artfulness or subtlety in such matters any longer. Rather takes a bit of the fun out of things.”

“Just think of it as another one of those fair trades.” Kallus groaned once more and shaded the sun from his eyes. “Nine hells. I’m never drinking rum again.”

“Sodomy and the lash aren’t quite as much fun without it.”

“When are you leaving, again?”

Needa snorted. “Not soon enough, I gather?”

“Draven is expecting you. He’s growing anxious about your agreement.”

“Yes…” Needa’s mood darkened. “As he rightly should. He’s an intuitive sort.”

Kallus grimaced. “Have you changed your mind?”

“I’m…experiencing some doubt, let’s call it. Maybe a bit of buyer’s remorse.”

Kallus went red in the face and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. “I went _deeply_ out on a limb to extricate you, Captain Needa.” In the morning sun, his irises blazed like smelted gold. “I could redeposit you far more easily.”

“There’s no need for threats, Kallus. I’m well aware of the precariousness of my situation.”

“I never figured a hero from the Battle of Coruscant for a coward,” growled Kallus.

“Oh, please,” muttered Needa. It was his turn to flush. “I’m neither of those.”

“You made a deal.”

Needa sighed gustily. “I’ve no problem with providing an intelligence dump for Draven and his cronies; I have no loyalty left for the Empire and there was very little love there to begin with. I just…I don’t wish to serve in a martial capacity any longer. I don’t want a command. I simply don’t want to fight—I don’t have the stomach for it anymore.”

“What would happen if everyone took that view? I’ll tell you—the Empire would crush this galaxy into a little ball in its fist and never let go until it was nothing but dust.”

“I’m _one_ person, Kallus. The universe won’t collapse without me.”

Kallus leaned forward and glared with uncomfortable intensity into Needa’s eyes. “Every _single_ body matters in this fight. Every single mind. The Rebellion is three lives less after your rescue. That’s three lives that can no longer do anything to stop the Empire. You owe them, Needa—and with nothing less than your own life. You can only repay their sacrifice with your full dedication to the cause. Nothing less.”

“Jabba’s teats, Kallus—when did you become a fanatic?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and faintly rolled his eyes. “But then again, you must have always been fanatical. Nobody in the ISB could be anythin—”

In one swift motion, Kallus lunged across the table and grabbed Needa by the collar, pulling him halfway out of his chair and sending the teacup flying. When Needa struggled, Kallus’ grip only grew tighter. Kallus yanked him forward and his clenched teeth grazed Needa’s nose.

“I’d love to finish what Vader started with you, you Fifty-one-hundred Level toff,” Kallus snarled, the alcohol on his breath stinging Needa’s nostrils. “But I promised Intelligence I’d get you to them, which indeed I shall—whether it’s as a comrade or a prisoner makes no difference to me.” He shook Needa hard. “Is this clear enough for you?”

Needa did what he could to nod in the affirmative before Kallus slammed him back into his seat. He became alarmingly aware of his uvula as his throat swelled again. “Fifty-one-twenty-six,” he croaked, straightening his collar.

“What?”

“On Coruscant. My apartment is on five-one-two-six. Not Fifty-one-hundred.”

“Do you ever fucking stop?”

“As for you—” Needa coughed. “—I’d guess the upper Thirty-two-thirties. Clean and cozy and solidly middle class. Am I right?”

He watched Kallus produce a comm from a trouser pocket and flip it open. “What are you doing?”

“Calling a transport to let High Command deal with you. You’ll have plenty of time on the way to figure out where your loyalties lie. If you have any at all.”

Needa frowned. The cup and saucer laid in pieces on the ground and his throat begged for the soothing tea, cold or not. “I’ve said, and certainly demonstrated in my actions, that I support the Alliance.”

“Now’s the time to prove it.”

“For stars’ sake, Kallus—I never said I wouldn’t join you all. I only regret the assumption that I’d want to take up a command. I certainly never agreed to it.”

“And now _you’re_ the one making assumptions. You think Draven is just going to let you walk in and give you a commission and the codes to the intelligence banks?”

“Of course not. I’m well aware not everyone sees me as entirely vetted.”

“ _Vetted_? There are people in the Rebellion that would still like to watch the _both_ of us hang, Needa. The _only_ reason you are here on this planet is because of Zeb Orrelios. He insisted it was the only place you’d be safe for the time being. _He_ may believe you trustworthy enough to bring you here, but _I_ remain unconvinced.”

“That’s a lie,” snapped Needa. “After eighteen months, you know me damn well better than that. I’ve literally given my life to get here.”

“I apparently don’t know you at all. Not this worm in front of me right now.”

“I swore to provide intelligence, not to captain some flotilla of outlaws.”

“You sound as if you believe yourself above that epithet. You’re every bit as much as one as the rest of us now.” Kallus sighed heavily and shook his head. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve already betrayed one oath to service, why wouldn’t you do it again?”

Needa’s nostrils flared. “I could direct the same question to you, _ISB-021_.”

Kallus seethed, this time the telltale red flush encompassing his entire head. “Only a psychopath could remain in my position after what I’ve had to see and do. How much of the Empire’s savagery did _you_ witness up close and personal? How many native populations were you forced to _personally_ slaughter into subjugation and genocide?”

“I Base-Delta-Zeroed Dankayo, Kallus. I’ve no idea how many deaths are on my head after twenty years, and while the blood on my hands is more figurative than literal, I can tell you it’s enough to ensure permanent nausea. So let’s stop sounding like a couple of still-indoctrinated fools playing an atrocious game of hypocritical one-upmanship.”

They were silent for a moment. A breeze rustled through the trees and somewhere wind chimes faintly tinkled. A Lasat child’s gleeful laughter floated in on the wind, a reminder to Needa that somewhere—not at this table, not even on the entire godsdamned galactic map—there was peace. There had to be.

The Empire was far away now. Far enough to forget. Far enough to deceive oneself into believing that this was stasis, this would always be.

One theory states that the universe is ever-expanding, spreading outward, an unfettered force of energy. Always moving, always growing. Without an opposing force, its expansion is constant and inexorable, and for it to halt, the opposing force must be equal.

Another posits that everything exists in a state of entropy. Some time in the unimaginably distant future the expanding universe will simply run out of expendable energy, reach equilibrium, and be rendered inert. Heat death as literal death.

The Empire, Needa realized, was a microcosmic example of the former. With nothing to stop it, its reach would only grow and grow.

The latter was more likely in the grand scheme of things, but would not happen soon enough to make a difference in this particular situation.

He squinted into the sun. The wind gently ruffled his hair, free from the first time in years from a stifling officer’s cap. His decision came to him without even thinking. He would do what he had to do to redeem himself and repay his debts to his Fulcrum.

“All right, Alexsandr,” he said softly, whether to soothe Kallus or himself, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. His chest felt light, lighter than he could ever remember. “I’m ready. Take me to Draven.”


End file.
